


That Bird of Mine

by MiserableRu



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: But Aversa was like just…a nameless bird???, Gen, I APOLOGIZE, In which Robin is a bird, It has foreshadowing but it's one shot, One shot thingie, So does Aversa, bird as in the spring bringer Robin, robins, this fic is about birds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 00:20:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10708233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiserableRu/pseuds/MiserableRu
Summary: The tale told of the bringer of Spring from the land of the darkThe tale told of two birds, red and blue, traversing the cold snow to bring the blossoms in the landHe found one single bird with blue feather like the sea and red streaked its feather as its blood flowed from its wound





	That Bird of Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who fell to FE fandom after playing it for roughly 90 hours?

__

_“Now the white snow melts away;_  
Now the flowers blossom gay:  
Come dear bird and build your nest,  
For we love our robin best”  
-Louisa May Alcott-

When he was a wee child, so little he was not to leave his cot by himself, his sister often read him fairy tales of faraway land: the beautiful but cruel land of the dark. Their land is bereft of plantations, their water source so scarce their people would kill for the precious fluid. He listened attentively as his sister spun the words into a tale, bewitching his childish attention with prince and princess out of inks and wonder beasts out of the musty yellowing paper.

After he left his cradle and his two feet were strong enough to walk, he asked his parents to visit the land of his sister’s tale. The king, frightened by his fondness to the opposing land, declared his confinement. His sister was scolded for telling lies and deception to the young prince, though she answered the accusation with a gentle smile and sternly exclaimed that she had not told any lie. 

In the span of two years, his father had drilled their kingdom’s teaching into his head and gathered all the fairy tales he had grown up with. Without consent, he burnt them to unsalvageable ashes. 

Fortunately, when the third child was born to his father –a beautiful, bawling sister to him- and cost the royal family the live of the queen, the king dwindled his class hours with the priest and added a new responsibility to his time. With his big sister, he took care of their youngest, taking turn to play with her every day. His big sister did not come with tomes or books anymore, though her lips always had poem to recite and tales to tell. About the kingdom their father hates and the land within his dreams. About their timid heroes and bizarre wizards. 

Just like he did, his little sister was mesmerized by the tale they spun and the land they shaped with their words. His big sister made her promise not to tell of their fascination to the stranger land whenever their father is presence. The youngest often asked ‘why’ and he remembered the flame burning. 

“Because,” he paused, wincing, “…he doesn’t like it…” 

“Because,” his big sister corrected, “…he’s scared of it”

“Because,” his little sister added with a puff of her cheeks, “…we love it!”

And perhaps, none of them was wrong.

……………………………………………………………………….

There are tales of faraway land. Of brave warriors who lives in the light. A tale that his sister sang in melancholy serenade or passionate bolero. Often the latter, he had noted. It’s how they bonded, how they molted each other’s feathers, exchanging verses of the tales and unraveled the meaning behind cryptic lines and obscured words. More often than once a week, they would start a new exchange, drawing verses from the tale and created their own version of stories. 

It’s fun, he found, it’s…better than wallowing in self-pity about their barren kingdom.

His sister agreed.

“Fortunate children, they are,” his sister scoffed after they finished one session of their new song, “…blessed by the dragon of life, the earth herself gifted them with lavish lands, everything that we don’t have, they seem to have”

They gazed upon their own kingdom.

“It’s almost drought,” he reminded stiffly, narrowing his eyes as the last rain cloud dissipated. His sister gave her wing one final pluck with her beak, “I know little one, I know” the grimace in her face was as clear as the dark sky. He plumed his own wings, flapping it once to test their lightness, “Shall we depart now, sister?” he asked.

Still with a grimace on her face, she nodded.

…………………………………………………………………………………….

They grew up inseparably with their father droning on and on about the title they were to bear and the burden which came with it. Being royals were not a choice, his father stated, it is a gift that they should honor. A blessing from their ancient dragon, who, their delusional father had followed blindly to this very day. Truthfully, the dragon is a kind being, a goddess of her own right who blesses her children with life. They respect her, admire her strength and wisdom. 

Her kindness knows no bound, though this statement had brought a question to his heart. Truly, if her kindness really knows no bound, why would she abandon the land he heard of from their stories? Why would she let death prowled their land and nourishment to be ripped from their hands? 

He had never asked this to his father, lest someone else would be branded a heretic –for deceiving him- and executed on the spot. Doesn’t matter who –and he feared it could be his wary friend- as the king could force anyone in the castle to tell a little white lie so his descendant is pure of betrayal to the public eyes. 

Never would he allow anyone to die in his place especially for such incredulous reason.

……………………………………………………………………………….

The night was young, yet the beasts had come out to roam the land for prey. He kept his flight steady behind his sister, occasionally throwing a worried glance to the older as the sky grew darker still and her wings faltered. “Sister,” he beckoned gently, “…would you like me to lead? You could rest your wings for a while-”

“I will not, little one,” she cut in, her wings flapped more than once before they caught the current again and she flinched as the wind weighed her plumage, “…I will lead until we’ve created enough distance, then you shall cover the rest” she said with finality. He detected the sense of pride in her voice and obeyed silently. 

Warily, he glanced to down below, to the earth, which made up their land. The dry, barren land glanced back to him maliciously, the beasts hauntingly prowled on its surface, searching, seeking…

He shook his head. 

“Something in your mind, little one?” his sister asked.

“No…” he answered, his father’s face came to mind, “…nothing that I like to chirp about”

“He’s dead without us,” his sister replied, her wings flapped again, “…do not worry about things you shouldn’t be-” she stopped abruptly and careened off course. He followed by instinct, catching the new current she made with the beat of her wings and flew straight to her, fear started to fester in his mind.

His sister didn’t glance back, “The beast has found us, he hadn’t given up apparently,” he could hear her irritation, “…keep up with me, little one and I shall fly us to safety!” she said without a pause. Before he could ask if she had enough strength, she had flown forward, surging him to increase his flight speed. He quickly followed, flapping his wings furiously. 

There’s another being intruding their course and he stiffened once he sensed its presence. “Don’t look back!” his sister chirruped sharply and he poised his face forward. He didn’t want to anyway, it would only slow them down and added fear to his chest. Determinedly, he stared at his sister’s sturdy back and her strong darker wings. They would be fine, his sister would lead them out of this predicament.

They maneuvered the sky, catching the East wind current; the fastest one they could catch with their small wings. Biding against the heavy strain from the opposing current, they flew, ignoring the prickling sensation emitted from their pursuer. He couldn’t tell how long they have flown, nothing could be told from their spot right above the clouds where the sun was nowhere to be seen and nor star neither moon could be spotted.

“Little one…” his sister suddenly spoke slowly, carefully as she made a sharp turn, “…can you take the lead?” 

He made an agreeing noise. It had been a long while, he could sense the exhaustion in his sister’s voice as she zigzagged, confusing their chaser. Such maneuver would leave anyone in dust, though he knew better than to underestimate the beast sent to pursue them. His sister’s wings slowed, as she allowed him to catch up and with a methodical nod, he took the lead.

“Fly little Robin…” his sister whispered tiredly.

And he did.

……………………………………………………………………………….

It was folly, an act out of fear, an order made to quench the king’s own need to prove his own loyalty to the dragon. And he knew it.

Because who would start a war without provocation?

“Their beast tainted the land,” the king spat venomously, “…their princes and princesses commanded troops of the living dead” he added, ignoring the concerned touch from his older daughter. The prince frowned when his father spent his days preparing for invasion, gathering troops from across their land and training new soldiers to enlist as helping hands. His sister told him to stall his hand, to be patient, as time would eventually soothe their father’s madness. He agreed to stay down, away from the cataclysm his father was about to bring about the faraway land. 

His voice wouldn’t be heard anyway and he’s restless whenever that fact was made clear.

“Are you okay, brother?” his precious little sister would ask whenever he did so, patching the cuts and bruises he’d sport at the end of his training session. There would not be a single answer from his mouth saved for the pants slipping from his mouth and a disagreeing grunt from his throat. His big sister was there most of the time to calm his anger, but whenever she couldn’t, he would destroy more of their training equipment and barked at his sparring partner to fight harder. 

It was a test of patience, watching his father chipped the faraway land slowly, painting the battlefield red with the blood of beasts and humans alike.

Until one day, it was his father’s blood, which drenched the battlefield.

The news came without surprise. The king always fought at the front, where the heat of their battle is the harshest, where death was just a matter of a swing of blade or a swipe of claws. They gave him his father’s sword, bestowed the legendary blade upon his shoulder along with his father’s will. He fought ‘honorably’ the soldier who reported said with tears, and he’d be honored for his achievements in life.

Which is the war that murdered millions of humans and beasts.

One that he and his sisters would eventually overwrote from the history of their kingdom.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

“Spring hasn’t come yet, has it?” his little sister asked, face scrunched in frustration. He peered at the windowsill, gazing at the endless white field, which made up their castle courtyard. 

“True…” he murmured, “…winter last longer each year…” giving the glass a single tap with his fist, he shuddered. 

When winter last longer in their kingdom, they lost most of their planting days to the chilling wind of the next winter. Their unripe crops would have to be unearthed before the winter strike. Harvested ripe crops had begun to decline in rate and most of their farmers had begun to drop their hoe in frustration. It was a blessing to see even the sliver of sunlight between the snowy sky or a small green sprout from the ground. 

Since their kingdom suffered from the aftermath of the war his father had started, they would need as many income as they could get. At first, right after their father’s death and his sister’s ascent to throne, people were too furious to help rebuilding their shambling kingdom. Fortunately, his sister had reputation, which precedes her father as the wise and kind leader. Everyone looked skeptic when she first ascended the throne, but soon enough, she had won the heart of their people; noble and commoners alike. 

“Maybe the Robins hadn’t come from the West to bring Spring?” offered his little sister.

“Ah, you remember that story?” a smile unwittingly tugged at his lips. Of course he remembered that tale as well. The pair of Robins who came from faraway land to bring the new breeze of spring to their land. Heartwarming as it was, the tale ended in a rather grim consequence. “Maybe they don’t want to die…?” he asked, jokingly. Of course, he knew that Robin is selfless. The bird has always been that way when the goddess created them.

His little sister puffed her cheeks, “That’s nonsense and selfish! Robins are heroes of spring! They wouldn’t sacrifice people who need spring just for their selfishness!” little fists rapped against his back. 

“I know, I know” he laughed airily, flicking his fingers against the shorter girl’s forehead, “I’m just teasing you”

They delved into silence once more, pondering if the Robins were just late this year or was spring would really be this late each year to come.

…………………………………………………………………….

He was tired.

Pulling his wings against himself, he wrapped his fragile body beneath his freezing feathers, wishing that the warmth it provided would calm his heart. His little heart thumped against his chest, beating despite how exhausted he was. “Sister…” he breathed to the falling snow, wishing, pleading. 

His beak trembled, “Sister…”

A light flickered to life beside him, blinking. He lifted his head, stared at the twinkling warmth. “Sister?” he asked, hopeful, wishful. _Be strong, little Robin. Be strong and I will take you where you should go_ , he heard. It’s not his sister’s voice. He shook his head, “My sister is probably dead, what’s use of me surviving this journey to wherever you want me to go?” the light closed in. 

_Little Robin, you have far greater purpose than dying in this field_ , it said, gently, understanding, _I will make sure you see to it rather than dying here by yourself_.

For a moment, he hesitated. He thought this was the last dying moment of his that he would die in here following his sister’s footsteps. Yet here was someone, a being of unknown origin who asked him to survive, to spread his wings once more for a purpose he didn’t know.

“….May I find my peace if I allow you to take me?”

_When the time comes, you shall_

He swallowed, “Alright…” his wings trembled wildly when he tried to move them, “…lead the way”

……………………………………………………………………………………….

“Big brother!!”

He practically threw his wooden practice sword when he heard the familiar shout. Panic rushed into his head as probabilities ran wild in his mind. Was it kidnapper? Thief? Murder attempt? Why would his little sister be THAT loud to scream for him?

“What happened, sis-”

He stopped, dread slipping into his whole being. His little sister stood in the balcony, facing his way with blood dripping off of her hands. Hurriedly, he strode to his younger sibling, running through any kind of first aid procedure in his thought. “It’s…it’s…” she sniffled, bringing her upturned palm to his face.

His breath hitched.

On her palms, a little blue bird was laying. A horrible gash ran from its white chin to its equally white belly, pouring out blood in amount that could be deadly for such a small creature. “I…I found it in the balcony…it’s…it’s dying brother, it’s going to die!!” she cried. With a gentle nudge, he ushered his sister inside, closing the balcony door behind them before he called out for his guardian. The wary knight was puzzled when he explained in brief, but hurried sentences that they needed someone who knows how to heal an animal, though he set off after promising he would bring someone.

The siblings took the bird to his quarter, cleaning its wound as best as they could. When the knight appeared, bringing with him the castle mage, they made way, letting someone who at least know anything to work their magic. 

“Well, nothing seems broken,” the mage said, after a thorough examination, “…its keeled sternum is unscathed despite the wound and it hadn’t lost superfluous amount of blood to be threatening” she added, fixing the glasses on the bridge of her nose. She procured a salve from her coat and reminded them that it still need attention and they have to slather the wound with said salve every five hours or so. They both agreed readily, thanking the mage profusely. “Just doing what I could provide, milord, milady” she regarded each one of them before she excused herself.

“Will it really be alright?” his little sister whispered.

He gave the bird a nudge with his finger, gently, almost fleeting, “…It would…a Robin would finish its job before it…” he trailed off, swallowing the lump in his throat. Such word shouldn’t be spelt in this circumstance.

His little sister gulped, noticing the grim consequence he had implied.

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

_Find my son_

_Find him and speak his name._

_They will guide you after._

_They will care for you, little Robin._

_But remember._

_You are tied to your father still and little Robin, he would find you._

_When the time comes, I hope you will spare my children the pain._

_For now, find them._

_Find my children and you will be well_

……………………………………………………………………………………..

“Chrom…”

He turned his head toward his little sister, blinking confusedly as she’s still sleeping, drooling on the sleeve of her dress. A cursory glance told him that his guardian wasn’t there with him, and beside the knight would’ve never addressed him without his royal status – a fact that he's rather not fond of. Was it the wind? He glanced to the closed windows. 

“Chrom…”

This time it was louder, clearer and originated from somewhere he couldn’t quite believe. The Robin was staring at him with its beady brown eyes, its bandaged chest heaved with difficulty as it once again opened its beak and his name slipped out. He blinked, dumbfounded. The bird continued chirping his name as if it’s the only word it knows. He placed a finger on the bird’s small cheek, “Yes?” he replied gently. It stopped, fixating its gaze at him until it tweeted cheerily, weakly, “I found you…”

It seemed to cry, little droplets of tears gathered on its eyes, “Finally…finally…” it chirruped shakily. It groaned –so human like he almost forgot that this is a bird- and propelled its small body with effort before it stood on its trembling feet. Determinedly, it gazed up toward him and moved its wing in one would say to imitate a bow, “Hello, Chrom, it is nice to meet you” it said.

The prince was stunned to see this. It almost like his childhood fairy tale came to life. A talking Robin, the bringer of Spring was here to find him. He could feel excitement rushed into his face, tugging a smile out of his lips, “Why hello there, little Robin,” he greeted back, “…it is nice to meet you as well. What brings you here, to this place?” 

“I…don’t know…” it said, seemingly lost, “…I was told to find you and that’s all…” 

At this remark, he raised an eyebrow, puzzled, “Who told you to find me?” the tale had never spoken of the Robins searching for someone, nor that the bird would be wounded when they came – neither alone. It glanced to the side, its eyes narrowed, “…Someone…?” it quietly twittered, “…I don’t think I quite remember who…”

They grew quiet, the bird mused with its own thought as he skimmed through what he remembered his big sister ever told him. The Robins tale had never been quite specific about the bird’s origin, though the author is quite skilled when it comes to describing the suffering the prolonged winter had brought. He remembered the picture he conjured of their suffering, having neither food nor warmth to survive the winter. Until the Robins appeared, born from the cry of anguish that they screamed to their Goddess.

“Chrom?” the bird tilted its tiny head, “…is it okay if I stay here for a while?” it asked, hesitantly, frighteningly. He smiled, nudging its cheek with his finger, “Stay for as long as you like…err…” the bird blinked at him inquisitively, “…do you…have a name, or do I have to call you…”

“Robin…” it answered hastily, “…I think that’s my name, yes…” it nuzzled its cheek against his hand.

“Alright, Robin,” he stood up, chuckling at the telltale name, “…do you need anything to make yourself at home?”

Robin stared at the pillow its been perching on, contemplating before it raised its head, “No, this is the comfiest pillow I’ve ever slept on” it said, before settling on the plush, mindful of its wound.

The sight was heartwarming to say the least. At least it was until his little sister woke up and Robin –as polite as it is- greeted her good morning.

……………………………………………………………………..

Robin settled into their life comfortably. It almost like the bird had been with them for a long time and they had just reunited again. His little sister occasionally bugged the life out of the bird while Robin tried its very best not to be angry enough to peck on her aggravating fingers. His big sister hummed a curious tune when she first saw Robin and the bird replied back with another tune, matching the one she had sung. 

Her stormy grey eyes had widened upon hearing the reply and for the first time in his life, he witnessed an avian species blushing from its face to its feathered belly. “Robin,” his big sister said afterward with the softest smile fixed on her ethereal face, “…I trust you know what I’ve sung?” the bird gave the slightest of nod before it sang the rest of the song.

They closed their eyes, listening, relishing in Robin’s lilting voice and mesmerizing serenade. “Thank you, Robin…” she whispered after the song ended. “It is my pleasure, Emmeryn” it chirped happily. The three siblings blinked wearing three different faces, “How did you know that?” his little sister poked the bird’s head, demanding answer with a pout on her lips. “Your name…just came to me…” it replied, flinching away from the offending poke. 

“Really? How about mine?”

Robin closed its eyes, “Umm…is it…Lissa?” it said hesitantly. His little sister perked up, without regards, she scooped the bird to her hands and nuzzled her cheeks against its small body. It twittered loudly at the ministration, the embarrassed flush prior deepened on its face. Lissa, thankfully, set it carefully back to the pillow, her lips twitched in amusement as the bird smoothed its plumage. 

“How do you know our names?” he finally asked. Robin plucked an itch between its wings, “I…don’t quite know…” it replied, scrunching its eyes, “…I know I have to find Chrom, but I don’t know why I knew the name of your sisters…” casting a glance to the side, the bird ended its answer. A curious smile appeared on Emmeryn’s face, “Robin…can you sing that song again?” she proposed, clasping her hands together, “…I’ll sing along this time, so would you?”

The bird gave a quick nod. It puffed its feathered chest and started on the first line, repeating the melodious harmony it had sung before. Emmeryn joined in soon enough, pressing the tip of her fingers against her chest as her voice merged with Robin’s, reinforcing the ethereal nature the song had. His lips twitched as the start of the tune peeked from the back of his throat. Lissa hummed behind him, joining in the dulcet song, offering her light and cheery voice.

They sang, losing themselves in the concert they made themselves. It seemed hours before Robin sang the last note, spelling the last few lines in serene tune and both Lissa and Emmeryn closed their eyes, smiling peacefully.

“Spring will come soon enough…” his sister said, her eyes fluttered open slowly, “…Robin…would you stay with us for good?”

The bird bowed, “…If you think I am worthy to stay by your side, then this home shall be my perch”

…………………………………………………………….

__

_“Hope” is the thing with feathers-_  
That perches in the soul-  
And sings the tune without the words –  
And never stops – at all –

 

-Emily Dickinson-

**Author's Note:**

> It's the first time I wrote a story with this kind of…style (?) and…I slipped back to how I wrote previously at the end…so…
> 
> shrugs?


End file.
